Bed of Bones
by Beans
Summary: A scene set during the time when Orochimaru was still a member of the Akatsuki. His animosity towards Itachi, as well as his intimidation of him, and Itachi taking advantage of it all. A short ficlet; Itachi x Orochimaru


_A scene set during the time when Orochimaru was still a member of the Akatsuki. His animosity towards Itachi, as well as his intimidation of him, and Itachi taking advantage of it all. A short ficlet; Itachi x Orochimaru._

A/N - Written quick in two nights. Because I like Orochimaru. Because you hardly see this pairing anywhere. (I don't know why, I think it's hot.) And because I felt like writing some smut.  
  


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**-- Bed of Bones --**  
_by Beans_  
  
  
  
"Get out."

"Orochimaru," The address wasn't to alert him to his presence, he knew he was there, even though he hadn't even heard the door open -- instead both a command and summon left open to interpret.

"Get out," he repeated, not heeling to it or even looking up.

The figure in the doorway, clad in black and red robes, didn't move and beckoned again. Orochimaru ignored it, fleetingly thinking how much right then he hated that door -- quite positive he'd locked it, but knowing that locks meant very little here with these people and were not so much for keeping anyone out but acting more like a _'do not disturb'_ sign, and that Itachi didn't particularly care about either.

There was a soft click, the sound of the deadbolt locking, this time he was sure but was not comforted by it. From behind, the footsteps of the uninvited guest came closer.

His eyes narrowed and he spoke offhandedly, his usually oily voice dry. "Are you not familiar with the concept of being invited first before you walk into someone else's room?"

Itachi didn't apologize. Orochimaru never expected him to, Itachi never apologized for anything.

The foyer ended in a drop-off with steep stairs that led to a lower landing of the room. Orochimaru was sitting on the bottom step, reclined with legs outstretched and ankles crossed amid a pile of books, paper, and scrolls. (The Akatsuki had a generous jutsu library -- a studious member's perk.) Itachi stopped on the top step. His shadow stretched down passed the stair, blanketing whoever in its way, onto the floor and Orochimaru watched it judiciously overtop the book he was holding.

"You're in my light."

The shadow stirred, watching him as he watched it.

"Put the book down," it said. Another command, not a request.

There was a tinkle of a bell and the rustle of clothing, making Orochimaru's pale skin crawl and a crease to form between his eyes -- he wasn't in the mood for this tonight. The shadow changed shape, shedding weight, taking on something more defined.

Again.

"Put the book down."

Dressing fell. Was left discarded, abandoned on the floor.

The shadow descended the stair slowly and naked knees appeared on either side of Orochimaru as Itachi sat down on the step behind him. An arm reached over his shoulder, plucking the spine of the hardcover between two fingers, wrestling it from his hand, and laying it down next to them on the step. Orochimaru gave a short, testy snort as it was done. Only coolly lethargic, he made no further protest, even when nimble fingers tugged his own shirt free and pulled it up over his head, and five minutes later he was undressed and laying on the bed. As always, on top, and as always, suddenly once more in command -- seemingly. It was a charade, and it took acting.

And Orochimaru was damn good at it.

He pushed his tongue into Itachi's mouth, putting up a fight there while his fingers twisted the Uchiha's right nipple aggressively, seeking a reaction but found none so he pinched the left too; pressed a knee between his legs; sucked on his tongue then stopped and kissed his jawbone, bit it lightly; thrust his tongue back in Itachi's mouth. The Sharingan user awarded the efforts with not so much as a moan.

"Fuck you," Orochimaru hissed finally. He grabbed a handful of raven in a fist and bent the younger man's head back, trying purposely to incite pain. "You come in here, say 'fuck me' and I waste time out of my evening to heel like a obedient dog between your knees. _Do something._ If you're just here looking for written notes then I have better things to do."

Gold serpentine eyes, angry and annoyed, baited spiraling red ones -- trying to spur the same anger, a flash of shame, insult, whatever just whatever. They stared at him placidly. "You have nothing better to do until I say you do," he said. Monotonic and flat. Nothing about Itachi's voice had any rolls or nuances or expression or color besides that slate-gray, matter-of-factness. Orochimaru despised it. "Finish your job."

"Hell with it. Go get your partner to suck you off. I'm going back to my book."

"No you're not, you're not done here,"

"I'm not going to lay here until the sun comes up trying to fuck a board."

"Then improve your technique, snake charmer,"

Orochimaru snarled. He hadn't made a move from the bed, however, and he wasn't going to try to. Instead he just gave Itachi a sharp jerk by his hair, anything but gentle but apparently harmless in the Uchiha's case, and dug white fingers into a shoulder intent to bruise and wishing with every fiber that they were rather around the throat.

He received a long flat stare, neither anxious or expecting, as he pushed Itachi roughly down into the mattress, kicking the blankets off and at the same time sliding on his belly in a slow, painful grind and spreading his weight out on top of him. Another kiss, more aggressive this time and Orochimaru gnawed ruthlessly on the bottom lip. The red eyes were watching him -- and they _were_ red, not black, the bloodline activated and he mused not for the first time the reason. A defense in case he did try something? Intimidation? The thought entered his mind how they might be predicting Orochimaru's every movement and touch, knowing what he was about to do before he even did it. Orochimaru hated that too.

Glowering, he hooked an ankle around the other shinobi's, bending the leg up and outward, not caring if he dislocated a joint or even broke something with the movement and the awkward angle and way he pinned it. It freed him more room and he snaked a hand between them, hot skin on either side, down, cupping and lifting. Itachi's face didn't even twitch.

The frustration was unsurpassable. The bastard was already hard but wasn't doing anything about it or for it or _with_ it, just laying there and waiting for Orochimaru to do all the work, like he always did every time all the time. He might as well be violating a corpse. It'd probably be more responsive. Orochimaru swore inwardly, he swore outloud to the room, he swore down at Itachi, rolling and twisting every expletive and the next with a multitude of venomous emphasis and color.

"Watch that mouth," the Uchiha advised in monotone levelness. "Have a care with how you talk to a superior." The offhand condescension that he stained the words with would have been gutsy for anyone else right then with Orochimaru visibly seething as he was and still threateningly holding his head by a clenched fistful of hair.

"I've got _years_ on you. Decades. You're nothing but an arrogant little brat who comes around any time he wants looking for candy in my pants."

"Fine, I own your pants though and everything inside them."

Orochimaru would have killed any other person for that remark, but for Itachi and that dry, humorless, matter-of-fact smugness it just earned a tighter clench on his scalp in warning. Itachi appeared to consider him briefly, then told him to kiss him again and Orochimaru did, hard and bruising, and as he did he found himself divided -- a part of him calculating the distance, the time it would take response to catch up to action, how fast he could yank the pillow from under Itachi's head and smother the last breath from those lungs; the other part not caring anymore because now his groin was burning, and like every time before he was too far in now and there was never any going back when he was already this far in.

The bed creaked a bit as he shoveled Itachi further up to the head of the mattress then pushed him down again, planting a foot against the frame for leverage and rocking his hips a little to gain more and more electrifying friction as he chewed the Uchiha's tongue. He snatched up Itachi's hands one by one to kiss his palms, turning them over to nip at the wrists and their tender skin, then pushing each of the fingers into his mouth to suckle and swirl his tongue around each individual digit. He raised them above the owner's head, twisting them in an unnatural position until tendons strained and bones threatened to snap as he pinned them both with one hand against the wall.

Red eyes trained on him carefully, the other Akatsuki member's expression still its usual mask of inhuman impassiveness, unrocked by this domination nor resisting it; with neither a cry of pain or moan of pleasure. His lack of animation was outraging. The unvocalized insult and taunt boiled away inside the Sannin into merciless and vindictive determination.

He drove his attention to Itachi's ear and nibbled the soft, fleshy lobe; his neck; down further along his chest where he rubbed an open palm in hard circles over a neglected, swollen nub. As he pinched and abused it between two fingers, Orochimaru was only half-aware that the light in the room had never been turned off and hummed a flat, droning accompaniment in the drum of his ears. His fingers were replaced with thin lips that latched on, licking and sucking and lightly tugging on it between his teeth. They usually turned it off -- but if Itachi had left the light on than that meant he wanted it on. If on any other given night for instance Itachi wanted them in front of a mirror, then there would a mirror, if he wanted chains then there'd be chains. Usually it was just sex and Orochimaru was left to his own devices.

Switching sides, he replaced his mouth to teethe the other nipple. Itachi said "harder" and he did harder -- Orochimaru finding brutal pleasure in exerting the pain and Itachi getting himself off on the punishment. He was an entertainer sweating for an audience, a sadist playing for a masochist.

Hovering over him, his back curved up and his free hand shoved Itachi's other leg aside, groping his thigh, alternating between feather touches and clawing -- raking the skin with his nails and leaving lines of swelling red marks. Not a sound. He lifted Itachi's hips and squeezed a pert cheek, trying somehow to dig his fingers all the way under the flesh. Not a flinch.

"You're extra stoic this evening. . .if that's possible," he muttered, eyes slanted. He released Itachi's hands from where he pinned them and with one palm pushed his hips back down while the other found the hard, heated length laying flat against his stomach that had been ignored for so long until now. A feather caress, that was all. The tip of one finger was enough to finally bring a respectable flush to Itachi's cheeks and hitch his breathing, if only for a second. Orochimaru flashed a dirty smirk. "How hard do you need to grope a whore before the whore starts to squeal? Or is this all purely for my benefit?"

"And who's the whore here?" His eyes flashed with the crude arrogance that his face did not.

"_Shut up._ I'm _not_ your fucking whore, I'm not your anything. Stop screwing around and do your part in this or I swear I'll drop your cock right now and kick you out naked and still hard into the hall."

Again not a crack of facial expression but red eyes were touched with something possibly akin to humor. Itachi prodded Orochimaru's foot with his own, encouraging him on, the most movement he'd engaged in since he'd laid down on the bed. "Use that tongue you're so deft with, mighty Sannin. Pay some attention and tender loving care to all the countries on the map before you raise the white flag."

Orochimaru leaned his head down close, glossy black hair falling and curtaining around the both of them as he took the engorged object in his hand, hardly lovingly and not at all gentle. He gave it a yank. "Careful what you wish for, maybe I'll just bite it off."

"You won't. You wouldn't, or else I'd stop dropping by and you like it when I come over, you enjoy every single second you're touching me when I'm here."

"_Bullshit._ One of these days, Uchiha, while you're too busy dropping your pants I'm just going to decide to finally kill you."

"Look me in the eyes and say that,"

"Fuck you," Orochimaru hissed, slowly and deliberately enunciating each word with measured hostility, "I _hate_ you, and of all the pieces and everything of you I hate those godforsaken, stupid eyes the most -- so much that it _chokes_ me."

"Liar," He brought painted nails to Orochimaru's face with the soft declaration, dipping along the lines of his hallowed jaw, fingers tucking black strands behind his ears and sweeping his mane of hair around over one shoulder. "You think my eyes are beautiful. You love them, you love them so much you want to gouge them out for yourself."

Orochimaru sneered, bitterly shouldered off the Uchiha's touch and shoved his tongue back into Itachi's mouth once more, intent on raging war, trying to wreak havoc and slaughter in that cave behind his lips as he began a fast, impatient rhythm around the length in his hands. Enough to cause relaxed, controlled breaths jump to something more erratic, less refined. He abandoned the lips, pushed Itachi's head roughly to the side and planted his mouth on a spot at the side of his neck -- it was not a nip but a _bite,_ and it was hard and intentional and blossomed blood. The action actually earned a grunt and Itachi jerked, and Orochimaru took advantage in that moment of dropped defenses to grind the length of his upper leg against Itachi's groin _hard,_ thigh to knee and back again, and twisted that grunt into a satisfying, self-deprecating groan in Itachi's throat, low and guttural.

It wasn't sex now. It was an all out war. Itachi stared up at him, breathing hard and arched up slightly, was pushed down, and he half-lidded those red, spiraling orbs that did so little in that dead shell to so effortlessly bring the world to its knees. Breathless, he cupped Orochimaru's face in his hands, whispering.

"You'd do anything to be close to these eyes. . ."

There was no reply. Swinging Itachi's legs over his shoulders, Orochimaru bent forward and dropped his head down, his mouth open, obedient, and mutinous all at the same time.

His murderous tongue swirled and stroked, fluted and licked -- he sucked him dry, he twisted and stretched with curled fingers, he thrust inside, ankles pressing into his back, going deeper and deeper and harder and faster and on and on, reanimating a corpse; determined in forcing out more of those sounds, high and low, making him moan and whimper and cry for more, making him buck, making him arch, pushing and shoving and tossing him around, making the dead scream, making it beg.

And afterwards, when it was over, they laid far apart. Each on an opposite side of the bed with miles of distance between them as they recovered, gained their breath, let their temperature drop back. Eventually Itachi got up and dressed without either of them saying anything. Orochimaru was still in the bed and hadn't moved, and he didn't even bother to turn his head and watch him leave, hearing the tinkle of a bell again and then suddenly nothing, once more not even the sound of the door. He stared at the ceiling for long moment, eyes became slits, then all of a sudden an arm shot out in a flash -- there was a buzz of chakra, and the light humming bright overhead exploded violently into shards of glass and cast the room into shadow.

He laid an arm over his eyes, and rolled over again. 


End file.
